The marijuana was not her biggest headache, we both agreed. Nor was the Asian gangster buying up grow houses and illegally stealing electricity under an assumed name (all paid for, in due course, via a mysterious transfer from a bank in Richmond). No, it was the policeman who caught the guy who got her riled.

(We are drinking our third cup of tea and her long dark hair is falling down in waves onto her flowing white gown, as I sit in full makeup before a large pack of cinnamon buns.)

He seemed quite good at catching criminals but could not make it to court, time and again, and his excuses seemed to be lies. Frustrated that he would not just admit to drinking beer all weekend or fishing with his buddies rather than answering his summons to give evidence, she let it be known. The gangster’s well-groomed wife has no idea as she drops her children at the gates of the private school in her new SUV. How it has been paid for. (The law firm were outraged but she billed them anyway. The case was dismissed.)

As she absently moves about the kitchen showing a small tattoo on her left foot., I see her one day sitting in judgement. And the small game of recalcitrant policemen versus shady pot empires will pass into herstory.